Mistaken Angel
by yulmucha
Summary: Kalika, daughter of Sita, has come to Earth for one reason. She will have to hurt and confuse her mother until the very end if she wants to accomplish her task. Read to experience Kalika's perspective of Phantom and Evil Thirst.
1. The Beginning of Our End

_There the dark forces will once again converge on him, but a powerful angel of mistaken color will rescue him only to lose him again._

When I am born – more appropriately – when I open my eyes for the first time in this new life, two startlingly azure eyes peer down at me. I am graced with a moment of arrogance, yet as I stare at the eyes I am reminded why I am here. She, Sita, notices my staring and her breathing picks up. Regardless of her age, and retirement from being a vampire for the moment, she is still so miserably human. Yes, I think to myself, I am meant to be here. Her hands tighten around me and I hear what she says long before it is actually said. I heard it thousands of years ago. My feeble infant mouth can not execute the smug grin I wish to give her, but I pray – how I love to pray – that it is reflected in my eyes well enough.

"Kalika," she states. It's as if she answers an unspoken question. Yet I hear the questions buzzing in her frayed mind. She had wished for a chance of her normal life back in India, a life that has been dead for five-thousand years. She wished to name me Lalita, she who plays. I feel sad for my Mother, how I wish I could be the small child who plays in the sunny drops of India, but instead I am the reincarnation of she who destroys.

What I am going to do will hurt Mother greatly, I promise myself to never lie to her. I can at least help that. The more I lay in her arms the more I become aware of what I must do. My head hurts, I decide to enjoy being a child for a moment and rest against Sita's chest. 


	2. Growing

_But all ends are temporary and all life is born from death. For this ancient war is for the purpose of dark angels and blue angels alike. Both are divine in my illuminated vision, and all color is erased in the infinite abyss._

I grow in maturity at a rapid speed. It is mostly the body simply trying to catch up to my mind, that is thousands of years older rather than the age of the two weeks from the day Sita gave birth to this life. She nurses me from her breast. It's unbelievably frustrating being trapped in such a useless body. Try as I might, I can't tell Mother how ridiculously insipid breast milk tastes to me. This morning when she tries to tuck me close to her breast I shove her away. I eye the small bruises I leave and hope she sees the small apology in my eyes. But she's looking across her. That means he must be there. I try to sit straighter, to focus on him.

"Maybe she wants something else to drink," Mother replies.

She's talking to Ray again. The man she believes to be my father, and her miraculous lover. It could only be a miracle that he would be alive, but I believe my mother has run out of her miracles. At first I questioned the way she moved around the house, talked as if there was another presence. Now if I try to look through her maya, illusion, hard enough, I see him and hear what he says vaguely. He's rather handsome, I can't blame Mother for needing him – even his ghost – as a partner against her supernatural daughter.

Mother continues to discuss with him about what I am. What I want. Done talking, she turns to face the window. I take my chance to finally be able to answer one of her questions, for I'm afraid it will be a long time before I will be able to again. I bite down on her breast and let her blood stream down my throat – how drained and bare it feels – as a way to tell her I want blood, and lots of it. She sighs heavily and looks in front of her again.

I am hungry, yet Sita refuses to feed me her own blood anymore. I scream in pain. If only I could run into town, daze a few strangers with my looks, and drain them dry! My throat burns a thousand fires and I have to wonder if this is a pain I should be used to by now. Mother's voice comes from outside my door. I shriek louder. Another sigh and a slam of the door. She is gone.

When she returns there is a man with her. I smile. The boy she has brought me is named Eric. I have seen him already, in the visions I get. I see Sita's face the most out of everything, though. While she coaxes him into a near room I notice something. The smell is mundane, as I have awaited it. Eric has a cancer. The odor of illness sweeps over me and I hope when I end up killing him he only remembers basketball games and chocolate chip cookies.

More days go by. Mother takes blood from Eric from the room next to mine and feeds it to me. It is never enough, though. Eric grows weaker and paler with each gulp I take from the flask. She adores Eric and promises him he will leave here alive. I silently curse her for giving him such false hope. I fear when he is killed, all he will remember is the promise she couldn't keep. Curiously, I have found out that Ray sides with me on everything. I question if this is due to the fact my spiritual influence is greater than Sita's desperation. It bugs me that I do not fully understand.

In the middle of a bright night I visit my mother as she sleeps. I brush her blonde, silky hair with my fingers, she really is precious to me. _If only you weren't so human Mother_, I think to myself. _Maybe then you would understand my unfathomable love. _Her eyes fly open, as if she has heard my thought. "I can't wait." I blink. "I need more."

Her head shakes. "He can't take it. You're going to have to wait till later in the day. I have to get you another."

I slip a sharp edge in my small voice. "I can do it if you don't want to. I know how."

Her forehead creases. "Have you been watching me?"

"Yes. I watch you." I don't mention how I visit the boy often during the night to talk to him. He believes me to be an angel. I inform him I'm the one who needs his blood. He usually smiles and lets his eyes fall shut again.

"Has he seen you?"

"No." My response is not a lie. I talk to Eric from an opposing corner of the room, where his eyes can't see me through the moon's shadows. I let him put my voice to any angel he wants to dream of. I look over to where Ray supposedly lays in bed. Humorously I add, "He hasn't seen either of us."

"You are not listening to me. This boy can give no more blood. Already his heartbeat is erratic. In a few hours, when it is light, I will go out and find another supply. Until then you will have to be patient."

I stare into her eyes and ignite an ancient fire from within my own. She can only look back in horror. I grin. "I have been patient, Mother. I will just take a little of his blood, and then we can go for another supply." I pause. "We can go in a few minutes."

"You're not going with me. You're a little girl."

"I will come with you. You will need me." It is too dangerous for Mother to go out alone. I have seen that she will encounter a bad man and he will surely kill her if I am not there to help. I do not tell her this. She wouldn't believe me anyways.

She hesitates. "Do you know that for sure?"

"Yes," I promise.

"I don't believe you."

I am reminded of one of my first thoughts in this body. "I won't lie to you, Mother, if you don't lie to me."

Her voice is weary from being half-awake, she forces it to be vigorous. "Don't give me orders. You are to do what I say at all times. Is that clear?"

I nod. "As long as you don't lie to me." But she is a natural liar. She loves to lie. I am asking too much. Without a pause I ask, "How is Paula doing?" Paula Ramirez. She is the reason I have come or, more specifically, her son. I only know of her name from my visions.

She is confused. "Why do you ask?"

I look behind her, at Ray, and wonder if he's got to meet her. Do other normal mortals seem him too? "I am curious about her. She means a lot to you." I finally say.

She is unsure about my answer and says slowly, cautiously, "She's my friend. She's doing fine." A pause. "One day you will meet her."

I often have visions of meeting Paula, but it is always under bad circumstances. I hope Mother introduces me to her herself. "Do you promise?"

She averts my eyes, they make her uncomfortable. "We'll see." She starts to get out of bed. "We can go out now, if you insist. But we're not disturbing Eric anymore."

I place my hand on her thigh. She questions what it can do and freezes. It is silly for her to fear me. If she were brave enough to swat my hand away I wouldn't be able to refuse her. I love my mother.

"I will take only a little of his blood," I persist, talking softer.

"How much?"

"Eight ounces."

She rolls her eyes. "That is not a little, not for him. He is weak, don't you care?"

My eyes fall to stare at the floor. I focus on images of Krishna, visions of holding a baby with his smile. I think of Eric and his deadly illness. My eyes shoot up. "I care," I say. "But not like you mean."

"What do you mean?"

I almost smile.

"I cannot explain, Mother."


End file.
